


It's always darkest before the dawn

by Carabesh



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fill for the kink meme, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg, One Shot, Vesemir Eskel and Lambert on the side, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:14:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23135980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carabesh/pseuds/Carabesh
Summary: Geralt growls and snarls and all Jaskier can do is flinch inwardly. Desperate not to show his discomfort, how it sends shivers down his spine. It flows cold through his veins and pools uncomfortable in his belly. It hurts. Metaphorical.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 41
Kudos: 774
Collections: Angsty Angst Times, Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development, Just.... So cute..., Witcher Kink Meme (Dreamwidth)





	It's always darkest before the dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the Witcher Kink Meme:  
> Geralt does not want his child surprise but doesn't know that he isn't as sterile as he thought and manages to get Jaskier pregnant. But Jaskier has a miscarriage, in fact, he has several.  
> He keeps it a secret, until he can't anymore.
> 
> Please heed the tags.
> 
> Title taken from the Florence and the Machine Song "Shake it out"

Geralt growls and snarls and all Jaskier can do is flinch inwardly. Desperate not to show his discomfort, how it sends shivers down his spine. It flows cold through his veins and pools uncomfortable in his belly. It hurts. Metaphorical.  
Geralt just keeps going. Spitting his anger out how he has no use for his child of surprise. How it will hinder him and make everything more complicated. How there is no room in his life for a child, for a family.  
Jaskier plays with his hands in silence. Trying to distract himself from the outrage of the witcher. It is not headed for Jaskier, just about the situation. And still...

… no family somewhat implies there is no room for Jaskier, either. He remains uncharacteristically silent. Geralt doesn't notice. Or simply ignores it. He just has to make room for his anger right now.

So Jaskier keeps silent, and doesn't tell.

He can't pin down exactly when their relationship went from “bard trailing behind witcher” to “friend accompanying witcher” to “best friend/fuck buddy accompanying witcher on all his paths”. It seemed so naturally at the time for them to grow closer, more intimate. It was fun. It was adventurous. It was passionate and so seductive.

They faced so much together. Monsters. Demons. Witches. Outraged townsfolk with pitchforks and torches.  
They always managed.   
Jaskier isn't sure they can manage this.

Witchers are sterile, that is what everyone tells and everyone thinks. It is part of their initiation. The children that eventually became them were offered to them. Or liberated from slavers. Or in some cases even stolen. There are no tales of any kind of witcher that fathered a child.

But of course Geralt had to be the fucking exception to this rule. Whatever Geralt did, it was never half-assed.  
And Jaskier knows it is his child, Geralts offspring, that is right now growing inside of him.  
Since he and Geralt came closer, became each others bed warmers, he hadn't bedded anyone any more. Especially no men. No one compared to Geralt.

Even if he growled at him in the afterglow of orgasm that Jaskier shouldn't read too much into it. Even if he was reluctant to show affection for Jaskier in the public of other people.  
Even if he still had his little outbursts of annoyance when Jaskier decided to be a real pest on the trail.  
The passion and love was there.  
In little touches. In casual glances. In a quietly muttered “Stay safe” when they reached a monsters hideout.   
Jaskier knows this. And yet it pains him so much that Geralt cannot imagine a future with a family. It excludes him and the little one.

It happens on a night when Geralt is away to full-fill a contract.  
Jaskier starts to bleed. He's frantic and scared. Maybe that is what drove it over the edge.   
The pain in his belly is dull at first, but becomes steadily more sharp, until it feels like his guts are being squeezed and clawed at.  
He cannot help himself but cry when he feels something inside him move down. The feeling only lasts for a few minutes.  
The pain lasts for hours.  
He cleans up, still weeping. He doesn't want Geralt to know.  
He doesn't want his pity, his reluctant comfort.  
He doesn't want any implications about their future.  
And so he cleans up and discards remnants of blood and tissue.

When Geralt returns hours later, he is covered in the blood and guts of a monster. As he is often. The stench lingers on him so hard that it has fixed up in his nose. He doesn't smell Jaskiers blood in the room. Or the distraught stress. Or the salt of tears. And for once Jaskier is grateful for Geralts gruesome work.

Jaskier was certain that it was a single occurrence. That it was a one-in-a-million chance and he blew it.   
But it happens again, months later.  
He had been reluctant at first to be intimate with Geralt. He had mumbled something about a torn muscle in his arse and how he wasn't comfortable enough for sex.  
Geralt then had offered a hand job. Or oral.  
That denial was harder.   
But he simply couldn't.   
The physical pain had faded away, but the other pain...

It gnawed at him and his consciousness. It was in the back of his mind screaming at him. Framing him. Accusing him.  
He had been given a gift. And he hadn't been able to keep it.  
And he simply could not tell Geralt.  
He avoided sex and intimacy for the better of two months.

And when he was finally able to come out of his shell, when he was finally able to try and enjoy life again, when he was finally able to let Geralt touch him again without his mind wandering to dark places-

-he starts to vomit in the mornings.  
And his mind spirals out of control, again.

He keeps quiet, doesn't tell Geralt of course. He walks along the path. Roach between him and Geralt. Keeping distance. Thinking.  
Thinking.  
Planning.

He doesn't really want to plan, but he can't help it. His mind wanders. To a future. A happy future. With him, and Geralt, and a child that is such a sweet mix of both of them. He doesn't care about a house or a castle. They could live on the road and continue to travel. Like they do now. He would carry the little one on his back. Or maybe the little one would ride Roach. 

Roach likes children, doesn't she? He doesn't really know. And his mind wanders back to Geralt and how he reacted to finding out about his child of surprise. The picture of a future crumbles within his hands to fine dust.

It continues and Jaskier tries to act normal. As normal as possible. But it becomes harder.  
Harder to ignore the craving to tell Geralt.  
Harder to pretend nothing is wrong.  
Harder to conceal the swell of his belly at three months pregnant.  
It sits low, between his pelvic and navel. Barely noticeable if not looking for it. But still there. If Geralt has noticed something about him changing, he doesn't say so. Tastefully ignorant, as the witcher usually is. It devours Jaskier from the inside out.  
But he doesn't say so.   
Instead he grips the cloak around his shoulders tighter and continues to walk.

It is so similar to the first time that it is downright scary. Yet so different.  
Again, Geralt is away for a contract.  
Again, the pain slowly sets in.  
Again, all Jaskier can do is lie in bed and cry.

It leaves his body and he can barely look at it. It almost breaks his mind. And worst yet, even with only a quick glance, there is seemingly nothing wrong with it. It is just tiny.  
So tiny.

How can something so small hurt so much in so many ways?  
Jaskier has no answer, so he keeps silent.  
Geralt returns and if he notices something, he too, keeps silent.

Jaskier doesn't want to count the instances. He really doesn't. But he can't help it.  
The next time is mercifully quick. Just a few weeks of morning sickness – and then he is sick. Excuses himself from Geralt to get deeper into the woods and comes back with a bit of blood still tickling down his leg.

The time after is exactly the same.

But his mind feels like it's about to shatter into a million tiny pieces.  
Just like the little ones he couldn't protect.

He avoids Geralts touch like fire. Like a demon avoids holy ground.  
Like a happy future with children avoids him.  
It breaks him even more.

It breaks and tears at him until he can't do it any more.  
And his body reacts accordingly.

Jaskier can't eat, nothing stays down. Even water he vomits up. His body is weak, and it doesn't take long for a fever to set in. His mind is weak and delirious.   
Geralt rushes with him to the next town on Roaches back. The entire ride Jaskier clings to Geralt and mumbles how he is sorry. How he wanted it despite knowing Geralt would hate it.  
And Geralt doesn't know what he means.

He finds the towns healer and barges in through the door. The healer helps, as much as she can. But it is not much. She tells Geralt that it is not a regular sickness that has befallen Jaskier, but more one of the mind. So strong and vile that it has spread to his body. She can help with the symptoms, but everything else is up to Geralt and Jaskier.   
And Geralt-

He doesn't really know what to do, so he rents a room in the next inn and orders a bath. He doesn't understand what could possibly trouble Jaskier so much that he would get sick. But he will find out. He will help Jaskier. Whatever it is.

He slowly undresses Jaskier, noticing how he tries to squat his hands away. How he curls in on himself and make himself smaller. Yet he continues in his work until he is bare in front of him.  
Jaskier whimpers and shakes in his feverish delirium, and Geralt barely can take it.  
He picks him up and carries him to the waiting tub of warm water. He lets him slide in, cautious and gently, cups a few hands of water over the hot skin and into the messy hair.  
Jaskiers eyes crack open, hardly enough the see his glassed-over expression. Confused, and somewhat scared.  
It mixes into his smell and lingers in the air around him. Geralt can sense it with every breath.

A sickness of the mind.  
He doesn't know how deep he has to dig for it.  
But he is willing.

Geralt takes a sponge and dips it into the water, wrings it and dips at Jaskiers face.  
Starts at his cheeks and slowly works up to his brow. Soft touches. No pressure.  
Geralt mumbles and hums, no real words or sentences.   
Soft nothings. He tries to make Jaskier feel safe and secure.  
He is with Geralt, and Geralt will protect him.  
And so, he sets in to work it out.

“Jaskier, talk to me,” he murmurs into his ear.  
“What is it? Why are you sick?”  
He caresses him, through his hair, behind his ears.   
Calm and collected.  
“You can tell me. I'm here for you.”  
“-s nothing, Geralt. S'nothing.” Jaskier mumbles. Tries to avoid his gaze. Tries to squirm away from the feather-light touches.  
“It makes you sick. It can't be nothing.”  
He carefully dabs at his face again. Eyes trailing the drops of water running down the bards face.  
“Please talk to me, Jaskier,” runs his fingers through his wet hair again and again.  
“I want to help you. I'm here for you.”  
And slowly Jaskier turns to face him. Tears starting to collect in the corners of his eyes.  
“You'll hate it. You'll hate me.”

Something in Geralts heart flinches and clenches at those words. He doesn't understand where this is coming from. Especially from Jaskier.   
Jaskier, who was never afraid of him.  
Jaskier, who carried his heart on his sleeve.  
Jaskier, who was always so open and forthcoming.

Jaskier, who Geralt had more feelings for than he was ready to admit.  
Who was always by his side, no matter what. Who helped him in more ways than he had thought at first possible. Who had been his one true connection to other humans in a world that was more than ready to shun him.

Jaskier, who is now reduced to a shivering mess before him, too afraid to talk to him. Too embarrassed to ask for his help.  
The aching in Geralts heart only grows stronger. Grows sadder. Grows fonder.  
He cups Jaskiers face. Trails his thumb across his cheek, wipes away tears.  
Jaskiers eyes are glassy and red, pupils dilated with fever and fear.

“I could never hate you, Jaskier. I promise. Whatever it is, I will not hate you.” Geralt whispers.  
And suddenly the spell is broken.   
Jaskier flings himself into Geralts arms, sobbing like a beaten puppy. And Geralt lets him. Runs soothing hands down his shaking back.  
“Is it the reason why you behave so differently now? Why you don't want my touch? Why you abstain from me?” It is no accusation from him, but he wants to know, needs to know.  
Jaskier only nods. Tears and water soaking into his garments. Geralt pays no mind to them.

“Tell me,” Geralt breathes into the hair above Jaskiers ear.  
“Please tell me. Let me help you.”  
Jaskiers grip on him grows firmer, drawing both of them even closer together.  
“I can't. I just-”  
Geralt shushes him, envelopes him completely with his big arms, as if his mere presence is enough to scare Jaskiers fears and sorrows away.  
To make him feel safe.  
To make him feel loved.

“I don't want to lose you too.” Jaskier hiccups.  
“I lost them. And I'll lose you. You said so. There is no room in your life for it.” He sobs and buries deeper into Geralts neck.  
And Geralt still doesn't understand, can't connect Jaskiers rambling to anything.  
But he continues to sooth him. Calm him.  
“For what have I no room, Jaskier? What did I say to upset you so much?”

“For family. For children,” Jaskier pulls himself from him and for a moment, Geralt wants to stop him. Keep him close.   
“You were so angry when you heard about your child surprise.” Jaskiers eyes are bloodshot. Tears straining his cheeks.  
He looks so breakable. So easy to shatter.  
Geralt won't let him.

“I know,” Jaskier swallows a lump in his throat. It is hard. And big.  
But it eventually goes down.  
“I know you don't want children. But then-”  
His eyes search Geralts face for anything. For confusion. For discomfort. For frustration and anger. 

He finds the beginning of dawning realization.  
“Jaskier-”  
Jaskier doesn't let him speak.  
“I was pregnant.”

Now the truth is out. And it tears within him.  
It is now out there, he doesn't have to hide it any more.  
And yet, it's the anguish that remains.

And Geralt?  
Geralt soaks the anguish up like a sponge through Jaskiers skin. It is this one word that keeps lingering in his mind, screaming at him.  
Was.  
Not any more. He never realized how painful such a simple word could be.

And Jaskier continues.  
“I was pregnant, with your child. And then I lost it. You-” he wipes his eyes with the balls of his fist. The memory is still too fresh, too vivid. The agony, the mortification, the suffering.  
The loneliness.  
“You were out for a contract. And I just couldn't tell you.”  
Geralt listens silently. Listens cautiously. Listens earnestly.  
“And after a while, it was better. I – was doing better. But then-,” another sob. Another shiver. Another stream of hot tears.

“But then I became pregnant again. And I lost it again. And... and... I... I just-”  
Now Geralt feels the lump in his throat, can barely swallow. Can barely comprehend the pain of the confession. Jaskier, ripped apart by all of his emotions.   
He's crying again. Now so freely, yet so broken and restrained.  
And Geralt pulls him close again, against his broad chest, cups his head under his chin and tries to offer every ounce of comfort and warmth and safety and solace that he can.  
And Jaskier sobs and bawls and cries.  
“G-Geralt, … it was … just so small, … and innocent...,” Jaskier hiccups again and again. Yet, he continues. Geralt has to know. Geralt deserves to know now.  
“...a-and I couldn't protect it. I-I couldn't save it. It-it was just... gone.”

Geralt says nothing. He can't think of anything. So for now he settles for just being there for Jaskier in this dreadful moment of pain and misery and remembrance.  
So he soothes. For Jaskier, and for himself.

“There were two more,” Jaskier gulps. “I hadn't- hadn't even really noticed them... and then, … then they were already gone, ... just like that.  
And I- I can't... can't be with you... or-or else I-” Jaskier can't finish. He only sobs into Geralts ear.   
And Geralt understands.  
He understands everything now.  
He won't blame Jaskier. Not for something like this. Not for something so horribly tragic. But he is angry and bitter.  
With himself.  
He hates himself for not noticing Jaskiers situation earlier. For being so blind and only focused on himself. For ignoring what was obviously so wrong with his friend, his partner, his most important connection to the world.  
And for painting a picture of the future for Jaskier that seemed to exclude him, when nothing was further from the truth. For saying these things without truly thinking.  
He had destroyed so much already.

And the worst part?  
The worst part is, that he feels like he's been robbed. Robbed by destiny of something he didn't know he craved.  
A child.  
His child.  
A child of him and Jaskier.

An image flashes in his mind, of a youngling. And how he looks like him, but not. How he looks like Jaskier, but still different. How he combines their best traits in one small human being with no problems. How he smiles and laughs and sings and plays. And then the image vanishes as reality comes crumbling.  
And finally Geralts heart breaks, too. It breaks and it lets finally everything out.

He doesn't really remember what he says. But he comforts and consoles. He doesn't blame or accuse. He offers and accepts. And he takes the guilt away. As much as possible. All of it, if possible. He wants none of the demons left in Jaskier. But metaphorical horrors are so much harder to slay than the real ones.  
He does it anyway.  
And Jaskier listens to him. Listens with tears streaming down his face, with quivering lips and red-rimmed eyes. And Geralt keeps him close, never pushes him away.  
Geralt offers all he can give.

Geralt doesn't cry, not any more. The harsh training of a witcher has beaten it out of him early on. So he griefs silently, for both of them. In his arms, Jaskier has cried himself to sleep. Geralt lets him. He picks Jaskier up, dries him off and carefully carries him to the bed. Lays him down and tucks the blanket around him. He wants to lie besides Jaskier, embrace him with his body, protect him and love the fear and suffering out of him. But that is what Geralt wants.  
He doesn't know if Jaskier wants it too.  
So he sits at the bedside and waits, softly running his hand through Jaskiers hair. Eventually he drifts off himself.

Hours later Geralt is woken by a hand on his cheek. Jaskier lays before him with such a mournful look in his eyes. Geralt cups his hand against his cheek, slowly stroking it with his thumb. They say nothing, and yet so much. Geralt can't say if they spent hours like this or only minutes.  
When Jaskier withdraws his hand Geralt is ready to remain at his bedside and keep watch. But instead Jaskier lifts the blanket. Silently invites him in.  
Slowly Geralt climbs onto the bed, under the covers and towards Jaskier. Settles against his body, and Jaskier melts against him, rests his head under Geralts chin and wraps his arm around him.  
They stay like this, and Geralt is certain that Jaskier is already asleep again; drawn out by everything he spilled today, by all the horrible secrets he thought he had to carry alone, had to keep from Geralt. But-  
“Geralt,” his voice is weak and wobbly. One can hear the hours of crying and bawling right out of it. Barely above a whisper in the night.  
“Geralt, I- … thank you.”  
Geralt pulls Jaskier closer, nuzzles his face in his hair, breathes in his smell, lets his hands do soft and small caresses across Jaskiers body.  
“Always, Jaskier. We will work this out,” he murmurs softly.  
“We will together.”  
Jaskier hums in his chest. Geralt breathes deep and wills his heart to stop aching so much.  
“I want you to know, Jaskier, I am sorry. For what I said, what I made you believe.” Geralts hand finds Jaskiers chin and slowly pushes it up, facing him. His eyes are still puffy. He looks so tired.  
“I want you to know, that I can only imagine a future together with you.  
I want you in it. Not any other way.”  
It's the closest he's ever come to say I love you. And maybe one day he can finally say it out lout.  
And Jaskier knows, and finally he gives him a small smile. Honest and sweet. And Geralt knows they can do it.

Recovery is slow, and just as painful. But it keeps moving forward, and so do they. They relearn each other and sometimes it comes easily, sometimes it comes harder. They learn and come forward, try to work out where the hardships are and how they can deal with them. But steadily they move forward. 

It is a few months later, almost half a year after they've broken down. And Jaskier is finally ready. Ready to let Geralt touch him in more carnal ways again. Ready to be sexual again. Ready to try again.   
It is late spring and they are travelling on the road, resting and preparing the campsite for the fast approaching night. Roach is grazing a few steps away and the campfire is already burning and crackling, sending sparks and cinder in the air.  
They sit together, leaning on each others shoulder, like they so often do, under a blanket against the still chilly winds of the spring season.  
Jaskiers gaze is lost in the flame, and Geralt ponders for a moment if he should disturb him. He doesn't have to, as Jaskier draws a deep breath and looks at him insecure.  
“Geralt, I wanted to ask you,” and Geralt can't help but notice how he again starts to play with his hands, like he does so often when he is uncertain.

“We both want a future together. And we are working for it. But-” Jaskier is silent for a moment and Geralt wonders if he changed his mind, wanting to change the subject. But Jaskier continues.  
“I want to know how you think about a child.”  
“Our child.” Geralt hums and for a moment he spots longing and pleasure in Jaskiers expression as the bards eyes linger on him.  
“Yes.” Is all Jaskier breathes softly.  
Geralt looks and searches within himself, and all he can find at the prospect of having a little one, a youngling to follow in their footsteps. To teach and to love. To raise for the world and whatever may.   
And all he finds for this is warmth and delight.  
“I would cherish it.”   
Jaskiers gaze for him is full of happiness and hope, and he settles perfectly against Geralts broad body like he was meant to be.  
“Then, I am ready.”  
“And I will be there for you.”

They fucked a lot. And that truly was fucking in the most bawdily meaning of the word. When their relationship started is was mainly to take off the edge or wind down after a harsh day or hunt. Over time it grew into something with a little bit more meaning. It became less about getting off and more about making each other feel good. Then mainly for each other and them together.

That night is different than any night before, and not only because they only recently had started again. Their touches are full of fondness for the other. Exploring bodies and offering care and compassion. Each kiss and every caress given with love.  
Jaskiers history of sexual encounters had been wild and ravenous. Geralts was more carefull and with restrain for the partner. Tonight they mash perfectly.  
Jaskiers moans full of ecstasy with each thrust Geralt gives him, sending shivers down his spine into every part of his body. Geralts grunts full of raw pleasure and gratitude. They move with each other, buck with each other and hold each other close.

Geralt and Jaskier both had sex before, tonight they make love.  
They do several times over the next days.

The morning sickness sets in and both know what this means. Suddenly, Jaskier is scared again, doubtful about his choice and his body. Geralt kisses the worries away and assures him. He will be there for Jaskier.  
They travel along the road, no real destination in mind at first. They wander from town to village to next town, until Geralt mentions Kaer Morhen and that they could stay there for the winter. That Jaskier could give birth there and the first few months of the babes life. The track would take them at least a few months, but Jaskier is willing. So they set off.

The first three months are the hardest for Jaskier. He had lost every child he carried in this time. He is squirmish and nervous. Barely eats enough for himself and the growing child. Geralt offers all the comfort he has and more. He takes no contracts and stays close. Helps through bounds of sickness and when Jaskier feels pain that can be so easily mistaken for something so much more horrible. He holds him at night and cares through the day.

When Jaskier starts showing Geralt feels something so compelling for the bard and the life within him that he can barely express it. He allows himself a happiness he hadn't even known he craved. And at times his mind wanders to his other child. His child of surprise. And he starts to form another wish inside him.  
When they rest for the night Geralt holds him again, large hands resting on the small bulge in Jaskiers lower belly. Tells him how he would like to go searching for this child, this girl. When their young one is born and older. At first, Jaskier is uncertain but he cups Geralts hands with his own and agrees. After the winter will have left the land, they will set out on this quest.  
Until that time, they focus on the now and then.

The path continues and Jaskiers belly grows with life. He is often so tired that he has to ride on Roach. Geralt helps him up and down from the tall animal. Roach only ever nickers softly. Jaskier has started to feed her apples in gratitude. She accepts willingly and is ever so calm, and Jaskier giggles when her snout brushes against his belly in curiosity. She's always been a smart horse.

“Geralt! Geralt!” Jaskiers shout is urgent and rises Geralt from his peaceful slumber in the early morning of an early autumn haze. For a moment he is disoriented and fear settles in his bones. But Jaskier is exited gleeful. The tenseness in his bones dissolves into ease.  
“What is it?” He rubs sleep from his eyes and stifles a yawn.  
“Give me your hands, Geralt!”  
Without waiting for an answer Jaskier grabs both of them as he settles besides him. He shuffles a bit with his tunic until it is open and places his hands on the bump in his abdomen. He moves them around a little bit and Geralt waits for whatever it is.  
“There,” Jaskier whispers as he finally finds the right position.  
“Can you feel it?”  
And Geralt can. The soft fluttering of something small moving. Hardly noticeable if one does not concentrate. But still so clearly. Almost like a butterfly brushing against ones hand with it wings. Geralt is in awe at his child, their child, beginning to move within Jaskier. He leans down, places his ear against Jaskiers belly and listens.   
He can hear it. The soft thumping of a tiny heart, only a bit muffled, like catching a sound through a body of water. He hums with affection, and when he is done he places a gentle kiss on the bump.   
“Tickles,” Jaskier chuckles. “You need to shave.”  
Geralt smiles and pulls him in for a much more passionate kiss.

They arrive at Kaer Morhen with the approaching winter. The way up the mountains is harsh and Jaskier can only do it on Roaches back. She walks steady and carefully, even without Geralts guidance and as so often the witcher appreciates how smart the horse is when compared to other steeds. When the keep comes into view Geralt feels a certain nostalgia for his old home and how it will become the birthplace of their child.

Vesemir waits at the keeps entrance for them, a look of amusement and wonder in his face when he spots the bard on the horse. Both have been in Kaer Morhen before, they are no strangers, yet the situation will be something to explain. Geralt is filled with boyish delight when he thinks about how he will tell his master and brothers about Jaskiers pregnancy.   
But they are more likely to directly notice and think for themselves. Jaskiers belly had been steadily growing since he entered the final months. It is large and at times Jaskier has bemoaned his former slim figure and how he will never get it back. Geralt smiled and told him he would also look beautiful with a pot-belly. Those had been the wrong words, as he had found out fast.

They reunite with Eskel and Lambert only days later and the looks on their faces are exactly what Geralt had imagined. Completely astonished and wondrous about the child in Jaskiers belly. Vesemir had only given him a smug side-glance when he saw Jaskiers condition and mumbled something about “not being able to contain his seed, not even as a witcher, that boy” and “having to child-proof the keep again, after all those years, can you believe it, my, my, these boys will never let me rest”; and with a wave of his hand beckoned them in.  
They spent the rest of the month arranging for the birth. Sorting through the clothings for children they bought on the way to the mountains. Jaskier panics at times that they forgot something and now won't be able to get it on time, but Vesemir is strangely prepared. Old keepings from the former children he trained and raised. Sure, some of the things are so old that you can see and smell it, but it is better than nothing and old things can be improved and repaired as they quickly learn.

Vesemir checks up on Jaskier and prods his belly in a proficient way, almost like a midwife would. Geralt actually has to wonder if the sterility of witchers has always been a constant or if his master has kept secrets on his own about the old times. It doesn't matter, he decides, as long as Vesemir knows what he is doing. He nurses his cup of ale instead and observes.  
“It's twins.” Vesemir proclaims suddenly with a knowing smile and Geralt almost chokes on his drink.  
Eskel and Lambert laugh in his back and Jaskier only stares at Vesemir, hands wandering over his belly.  
“Twins? Two babies?” he asks haltingly. Geralt notices something like apprehension creep into his eyes and quickly strives over to his side. Sneaks an arm around him and nuzzles him like he so often did now.  
“All will be well. We can do that. We can take care of two children.” he whispers into Jaskiers ear.  
“Eventually three.” Jaskier sighs back.  
“Yeah, but first them.” Geralt pats his belly and can feel the movement inside. It definitely explained why Jaskier had complained about to many kicks, lately. And somehow, it only makes him more proud of the bard.

Jaskier gives birth only three weeks later. He screams and moans and clutches Geralts hand so hard that Geralt is sure he wants to break it. But he pushes through the labour. Twice.   
And when Jaskiers crying quiets down, he can hear the wailing of their newborn sons. It is loud and piercing and one of the most beautiful sounds that Jaskier ever heard. He holds one and Geralt the other. They are so enamoured that they don't notice how Vesemir and the other witchers leave their room.   
Geralt sits on Jaskiers bedside and silently observes how Jaskier coos at their son in his arms and calms him down. He has dark rings under his eyes and his entire body screams in exhaustion, but he also looks so blissful that Geralt cannot turn his gaze away. Then Jaskier looks up at him lovingly.   
“Congratulations, Geralt, you're a father now.” He gives him that cheeky smile that makes him seem so young.   
“So are you.” Geralt growls in response and leans down to kiss his forehead.  
“They are perfect, Jaskier. You did so well. You've been so brave.”  
“Only could do it thanks to you.” The last part of the sentence is stretched out by a long yawn. It makes Geralt chuckle. His fingers dance lovingly across the sleeping face of the son in his arms. He blows a kiss on the sleeping face and the baby coos in his sleep. He leans down again and does the same for his other son.  
Witcher aren't supposed to feel, as folktales tell, but the new-grown adoration Geralt senses in himself is something completely foreign to him. He welcomes it with open arms. It is just as strong as his adoration for Jaskier, only a bit different. He embraces both feelings.  
He carefully slips on the bed, against Jaskier, and kisses him again. And finally he feels strong enough to say it: “Thank you. I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> God, the ending got so sappy I almost hate it.
> 
> What? You want names for the kids? I can't think of names, I could barely name this fic.  
> Somebody else do it.  
> I'm off, drinking ale with Eskel and Lambert! Wait for me, boys!


End file.
